


The Matter of the Heart

by Dawnlit_Waters



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: I mean the literal kind, Love Confessions, M/M, Seduction, bedroom gymnastics, but with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnlit_Waters/pseuds/Dawnlit_Waters
Summary: The hem of Dick's thin gauze robe flutters against his calves as he pushes open the door to the master bedroom.





	The Matter of the Heart

The hem of Dick's thin gauze robe flutters against his calves as he pushes open the door to the master bedroom.

Entering the room, Dick switches on the light. Dawn has just begun to break. Even though Bruce has excellent night vision, only ample lighting can do the translucent fabric of his garment proper justice.

One bare foot in front of another, he approaches the occupied four-poster bed. The rhythm of his steps echoes that of his ascension along the rope ladder to the top of trapeze rigging before a performance. His derring-do right now shares the same potential outcomes with the flying act: he will either soar, or fall.

Taking in the sight of Dick from head to toe, Bruce doesn't acknowledge what he sees, which is expected.

Dick stops when he's several paces away from the man. "She talks about spicing things up with her flexibility.” He glides into an arabesque penché, his taut working leg pointing straight to the sky. "Let her top this." Bringing the leg forward with effortless fluidity, he achieves a 270-degree oversplit. He then plants one hand on the ground and does a front walkover in super-slow motion, flirting with gravity, showcasing the lines of his body as his muscles stretch and ripple.

"Her forte, those 'exquisite, dream-like' fouettés," in spite of the thick carpet beneath his feet, he punctuates each word with a stage-worthy double fouetté turn, "I've mastered them down here _and_ —"

He vaults himself onto the chandelier using the nearest bedpost. Back arched and toes pointed, he swings back and forth, reaching higher and higher. When his torso is about to kiss the ceiling, he releases his grip and throws a triple fouetté before getting hold of a rafter above Bruce's bed. "—in the air."

He lands on the foot of the bed with a soft thud and perches there, barely close enough for Bruce to feel a hint of his body heat.

"Her beauty, her poise, color me unimpressed. I've seen literal goddesses…and mirrors. That said, I understand beauty and poise aren't what makes you fall for her, nor is physical prowess. You're attracted to her temperament, the darkness within this ballerina who resonates with Odile as opposed to Odette. A seductress with close ties to the Markovian mafia, Tatjana fits your type so well. She certainly belongs with those femmes fatales before her. For the better part of a decade, I've witnessed again and again how they captivate your heart and break it into pieces in the end. Given your penchant for their brand of charm, I thought in order to win you over maybe I should take a page from their book."

Dick tugs at the loose knot at his waist. His robe falls open, revealing the body beneath. He leans in on his elbows, invading Bruce's personal space, head turning upward in an angle that accentuates the curves of his neck and spine. Eyes half-narrowed, his gaze locks onto Bruce's through downcast lashes. “I can put up that sultry, dangerous air too. Watching snake ladies and big cat tamers at work has taught me how,” he purrs. The rounding of his lips at the end of each sentence is reminiscent of a most sensual kiss.

None of Bruce's facial muscles makes the slightest movement, which is also expected.

Dick drops the act and returns to his normal self in no time. "Yet, shortly after I started to entertain the idea, it dawned on me I got it wrong—my attempt to vamp you would be futile, for I don't have it in me to hurt you. You drift toward one dark vortex of a woman after another because they appeal to your self-destructive tendency. You deem yourself too dark and sour to be a good, lovable person. As a result, you only look for love in the places where you know deep down you won't find the healthy, lasting sort of it. To allow yourself hold the prospect of happiness in the palm and then watch it inevitably crumble, rinse, repeat—you may be able to endure this torturous cycle until your dying day, but the ever-growing pain of watching you suffer has become unbearable to me."

Dick lowers his head, uncorking the bottle filled to the brim with his feelings for Bruce nestling behind his sternum. Inside it, childish hero-worship and hormone-charged infatuation have matured into love with a capital "L" as time passes. When he looks up several racing heartbeats later, the freed emotion pours out from his eyes.

The dilation of Bruce's pupils, his very first response since Dick opened the door, a sign Dick didn't dare to expect but ached for, makes his breath quiver and throat constrict.

"You're lovable. I'm sure of it, because I love you with every fiber of my being,” he says, his voice shaky yet his tone unwavering. “You're a good man, Bruce—granted, sometimes you come off as not quite nice, but you _are_ good at the core. It’s impossible to convince you simply by telling you so, I know—here, look at me. Think about who Dick Grayson and Robin have turned out to be after all these years at your side. Can you honestly say I'm the product of an unworthy man's care and mentorship? Please, Bruce, stop punishing yourself for unfounded guilt and self-hatred. You deserve love and happiness. Give yourself a chance. Give me a chance. We've done well as partners in crime-fighting. I believe we'll do well as partners in love also."

Bruce reaches out, cradling his cheek with a feather-light hand. Dick nuzzle the man's palm and presses a kiss onto its center. The sudden hot breaths on the shell of his ear announce Bruce's proximity. Turning his head toward their source, Dick finds himself overwhelmed by two pools of the most brilliant blue each holding a reflection of him. Himself in Bruce's eyes, nothing but himself in Bruce's eyes—Dick fights against his urge to blink, unwilling to miss even one-fiftieth of a second in heaven.

The sound of a chair being pulled out from under a desk couple of rows to his left jerks Dick back to reality. He surveys his surroundings discreetly, relieved to see no one in the reading room takes notice of his blazing cheeks and heaving chest. The familiar sharp pang of longing that always follows his Bruce-themed fantasies hits him. Burying his face in his hands, he lets out a silent, heavy sigh.

Bruce is still smiling at him from the pages of today's _Gotham Gazette_ when he pulls his hands away. Dick succumbs to the urge to trace the man's monochrome jawline with his finger, wishing a part of it wasn't blocked by Tatjana von Stackelberg's black swan headpiece. _As soon as I manage to prove I've grown into someone to whom you can entrust your heart, I'll bare my heart to you. We will be happy together. It won't be long now, Bruce. It won't be long now._

**Author's Note:**

> English as a second language + unbetaed work = possible mistakes and room for improvement. I'd be very thankful for concrit.
> 
> Feedback is most welcome. <3


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